Sarah's apartment was covered in notes.
Literally covered. Papers taped to walls, spreadsheets printed and annotated, a massive timeline stretching across her living room. Jackson sat on the couch with a laptop, cross-referencing something.
"Okay, this is a lot," Marcus said, closing the door behind him.
"We're optimizing your development curve." Sarah gestured to the wall of data. "You've been training for seven weeks. Building abilities steadily. But last night proved you're not going to be able to maintain the 'just training' approach indefinitely."
"I walked away. Like we planned."
"And it almost killed you to do it." Jackson looked up from his laptop. "Your log entry was three sentences. Usually you write paragraphs. That's how we know it was bad."
Marcus slumped into a chair. "So what's the solution? I keep training until I'm... what? Perfect? That's never going to happen."
"No. The solution is we accelerate your strategic copying and set concrete readiness benchmarks." Sarah pulled up a document on her tablet. "You need specific skill thresholds before active intervention becomes viable. We've identified the gaps."
She displayed a chart:
CURRENT CAPABILITIES:
Combat: Intermediate (basic training, multiple styles, enhanced physical abilities)
Medical: Basic (first aid, triage, some diagnostic knowledge)
Tactical: Basic (cop intuition, combat awareness, strategic thinking)
Technical: Advanced (engineering, various specialized knowledge)
Investigation: Minimal (some legal knowledge, no detective skills)
Survival: Minimal (navigation, basic outdoor skills)
REQUIRED FOR ACTIVE INTERVENTION:
Combat: Advanced (master-level training from multiple disciplines)
Medical: Intermediate (trauma care, emergency medicine)
Tactical: Advanced (military-level tactical thinking, threat assessment)
Technical: Current level acceptable
Investigation: Intermediate (detective work, evidence analysis, tracking)
Survival: Intermediate (urban survival, escape and evasion)
"You're getting there in combat and technical," Jackson said. "But you're weak in tactical, investigation, and survival. If you intervene in a situation and things go wrong, you need to know how to escape, evade, and not get caught by police or worse."
"So I need more training. Which is what I'm doing."
"You need targeted training. Specific people with specific skills." Sarah pulled up another list. "We've identified high-value copying targets in Gotham. People whose abilities would significantly boost your readiness."
Marcus scanned the list:
HIGH-PRIORITY TARGETS:
Combat Masters:
I-Ching (current - keep training until copy triggers)
Ted Grant (boxing legend, runs youth gym in East End)
Any current/former military with CQC training
Tactical/Investigation:
More detectives at GCPD (Bullock was good start, need more)
Private investigators
Former intelligence officers
Security consultants
Medical:
Trauma surgeons (you're getting these at hospital)
Combat medics (harder to find)
Emergency medicine specialists
Survival/Evasion:
Urban explorers who know Gotham's underground
Former criminals who know escape routes (risky but valuable)
Parkour practitioners for urban movement
Lock-picking experts (legitimate locksmiths)
"Ted Grant?" Marcus looked up. "The boxer?"
"Former heavyweight champion. Now runs a youth boxing program in Crime Alley." Sarah pulled up information. "He's a legend. Trained for decades. If you copy from him, you'd get master-level boxing expertise."
"And he's in Crime Alley. Which is dangerous."
"Which is where you'll eventually be operating if you insist on helping people," Jackson pointed out. "Might as well scout it while building skills."
Marcus studied the list. It made sense. He'd been copying randomly from whoever he encountered. But targeting specific high-value individuals would accelerate his development significantly.
"What about the risky ones? Former criminals, underground people?"
"Calculated risk," Sarah said. "You copy useful skills but potentially dangerous psychology. We avoid active criminals—too much psychological contamination risk. But former criminals who've gone straight? People who know Gotham's underworld but aren't currently part of it? That knowledge could save your life."
"You want me to hang out with reformed criminals."
"We want you to strategically position yourself near people with survival skills that normal citizens don't have." Jackson pulled up another document. "Gotham's underground is massive. Tunnels, abandoned subway lines, sewer systems, old Prohibition-era passages. If you're going to operate here, you need to know how to use that infrastructure."
"Okay. So I find people who know Gotham's underground. Copy their knowledge. Along with continuing combat training and medical volunteering."
"And we set benchmarks," Sarah emphasized. "Specific ability thresholds you need to hit before we consider you ready for active intervention. Not 'someday when you're good enough' but concrete, measurable goals."
She displayed the benchmarks:
PHASE 1 COMPLETE: 150+ abilities, master-level training from at least 2 combat disciplines, intermediate medical knowledge, basic tactical thinking ESTIMATED: 3 more weeks
PHASE 2 TARGET: 200+ abilities, advanced tactical knowledge, investigation skills, survival/evasion expertise, significant combat experience (controlled environments) ESTIMATED: 6-8 more weeks
PHASE 3 READY: 250+ abilities, multiple expert-level combat systems integrated, field medicine capability, can operate independently in Gotham's underworld ESTIMATED: 10-12 more weeks total
"Three months," Marcus said. "You want me to wait three more months before doing anything."
"We want you to be actually ready instead of getting killed your first real intervention," Sarah corrected. "Seven weeks of training is good. Sixteen weeks total would be better. That gives you time to truly master multiple skill sets, build genuine expertise, and develop the survival skills you need."
"And if I hear someone being murdered in an alley tomorrow? I just walk away for three more months?"
Sarah and Jackson exchanged looks.
"No," Sarah said finally. "If it's life-or-death and you have clear advantage, you intervene. But you call Bullock first for backup. You have an escape plan. You don't take unnecessary risks. And you're honest with yourself about whether you're actually helping or just making yourself feel better."
"That last part sounds judgmental."
"It's realistic," Jackson said. "Sometimes intervening makes things worse. Sometimes the person trying to help becomes another victim. We're not saying never help. We're saying help smart."
Marcus absorbed that. They were right. He knew they were right. But three more months of walking past crimes felt impossible.
"Okay. Accelerated timeline. Targeted copying. Specific benchmarks." He looked at his friends. "What's the actual plan? Day by day?"
Sarah pulled up a schedule:
WEEKLY PLAN:
Monday/Wednesday/Friday: I-Ching's dojo (evening)
Tuesday/Thursday: Boxing with Coach Rivera (evening)
Saturday: Extended training at I-Ching's (morning) + hospital volunteering (afternoon)
Sunday: Rest/recovery + visiting high-value locations for strategic copying
HIGH-VALUE LOCATIONS:
Ted Grant's gym in East End (Sunday afternoons)
Police station (occasionally, copy from more detectives)
Rock climbing gym (body control, grip strength, problem-solving)
Library (research skills, information organization)
Shooting range (weapon familiarization - legal and controlled)
Urban exploration meetup groups (Gotham underground knowledge)
"You've got my whole week planned out."
"Your whole week was already training and school," Sarah pointed out. "We're just making the training more efficient."
"And we're coming with you to some of these," Jackson added. "Sunday location visits especially. Safety in numbers. Plus I want to see Ted Grant's gym. Boxing legend running a youth program in Crime Alley? That's genuinely cool."
"You just want to watch boxing."
"I can want multiple things."
Marcus looked at the schedule, the benchmarks, the lists of high-value targets. It was comprehensive. Logical. Designed to get him ready as fast as safely possible.
Three more months of intensive training. One hundred to two hundred more abilities. Genuine expertise instead of scattered knowledge.
"Okay. Let's do it."
The acceleration plan started immediately.
Sunday afternoon, Marcus and Jackson took the bus to Crime Alley. The neighborhood looked exactly like its reputation—run-down buildings, suspicious characters on corners, that particular Gotham atmosphere where violence felt inevitable rather than possible.
"This place is cheerful," Jackson muttered.
"It's Crime Alley. Cheerful isn't really the brand."
Ted Grant's gym occupied the ground floor of an old building. Windows were barred but clean. A faded sign read "GRANT'S GYM - Youth Program - No Gangs - No Drugs - No Excuses."
Inside, the space was packed. Boxing rings, heavy bags, speed bags, jump ropes. Dozens of kids—mostly teenagers, some younger—training under supervision of older fighters. The sound of gloves hitting bags, jump ropes whipping, coaches shouting encouragement.
And in the center of it all, an older man maybe in his sixties, built like he could still go twelve rounds despite his age. Gray hair, scarred knuckles, wearing a simple tank top and track pants. Moving between students, correcting form, offering advice.
Ted Grant. Boxing legend.
"Can I help you?" A younger trainer approached. Hispanic guy, maybe thirties, with a nose that had been broken multiple times.
"We're interested in the program," Marcus said. "I've been training at a few places but wanted to learn from the best."
"You got money for membership?"
"How much?"
"Nothing. Free for kids from the neighborhood. Twenty bucks a month for everyone else. Covers equipment maintenance." The trainer sized them up. "You look old enough for college. This is mostly a youth program."
"I'm twenty-one. Still learning." Marcus gestured to the active training. "Is Mr. Grant accepting new students?"
"Ted takes everyone who's serious. You serious?"
"Yeah."
The trainer called over to Ted. "Boss! Got a college kid wants to train!"
Ted Grant looked over, studied Marcus with sharp eyes that had seen thousands of fighters. He approached, his movement efficient despite his age.
"You box before?" His voice was rough, direct.
"Some. Been training at a few places. Want to learn from someone who actually knows what they're doing."
Ted smiled slightly. "Flattery's cheap. Show me your stance."
Marcus dropped into his boxing stance—the one Coach Rivera had taught him, refined by his various copied abilities.
Ted walked around him, assessing. "Not bad. You've got fundamentals. Someone taught you right. But your weight distribution is off. You're too squared up. Makes you stable but slow to move."
He adjusted Marcus's stance with quick, professional movements. "There. Now throw a jab-cross combo."
Marcus did. Fast, controlled, using his enhanced speed but trying not to make it obvious.
Ted's eyes narrowed. "Do that again. Slower."
Marcus complied.
"You're fast. Real fast. Natural talent or something else?"
"I work at it."
"Hmm." Ted didn't look convinced but didn't push. "Alright. You can train here. Sunday afternoons, we do open gym. Come by, work the bags, maybe spar if you prove you can control yourself. Twenty bucks a month, paid up front."
"Deal." Marcus pulled out his wallet.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Marcus Reid. Engineering student at Gotham U."
"Ted Grant." He took the twenty dollars. "That your friend?" He gestured to Jackson watching from the sidelines.
"Yeah. Jackson. Pre-med student. He's just here for moral support."
"Tell him he can watch but if he wants to train, same deal. Twenty bucks, show up consistently, take it seriously." Ted turned back to the gym. "Alright, Reid. Grab some gloves, hit the heavy bag for three rounds. Let's see what you've got."
Marcus spent the next hour working bags under Ted's occasional supervision. The gym was different from Coach Rivera's place—more energetic, more community-focused, but the training was serious. Ted corrected Marcus's form multiple times, pointed out inefficiencies, demonstrated proper technique with movements that still held decades of expertise.
Click.
There it was. The familiar sensation.
Marcus had copied something from Ted Grant.
He felt it settle in—not just boxing knowledge, but something deeper. Ring awareness. The ability to read an opponent in a boxing context. Decades of fight experience compressed into instinct. Where to move, when to strike, how to defend. Not complete mastery, but a significant upgrade to his boxing capability.
That's a major copy. Combat master-level ability.
Marcus finished his workout trying not to grin like an idiot. One high-value target down. Master-level boxing expertise acquired.
After the session, Ted approached while Marcus was unwrapping his hands.
"You're better than you should be," Ted said bluntly. "Natural athlete, good coaching, or something else?"
"Good coaching. And a lot of practice."
"Right." Ted clearly didn't believe that completely. "Well, whatever it is, you've got potential. Come back next week. We'll work on your defense. You're too aggressive, leave yourself open."
"Thank you, Mr. Grant."
"Just Ted." He nodded to Jackson. "Your friend didn't sign up."
"He's pre-med. More interested in fixing people than hitting them."
"Smart. Less brain damage that way." Ted almost smiled. "Alright, Reid. See you next Sunday."
Marcus and Jackson left the gym as evening was falling over Crime Alley.
"You copied something," Jackson said immediately. "I could tell. You got that look."
"Master-level boxing expertise from Ted Grant. That's a major ability."
"One down. How many more high-value targets on Sarah's list?"
"Too many. But this is progress." Marcus pulled out his phone, logged the copy in Sarah's app.
DATE: May 8
TOTAL ABILITIES: 122
NEW COPY: Ring awareness and advanced boxing expertise (Ted Grant) - MAJOR ABILITY
LOCATION: Grant's Gym, Crime Alley
NOTES: Master-level combat ability acquired. Significantly upgraded boxing skills. Ted is suspicious but allowed training. Can continue weekly sessions for more strategic copies if available. Crime Alley is rough but manageable with enhanced awareness.
They caught the bus back to campus, Marcus feeling the difference the new ability made. His understanding of boxing had jumped several levels. He could see openings he hadn't noticed before. Defensive patterns. Counter opportunities. Decades of ring experience integrated into his growing skill set.
"Sarah's going to be pleased," Jackson said. "You just knocked out a major benchmark item in one day."
"One of many. Still need advanced tactical knowledge, investigation skills, survival expertise, and about a hundred more abilities."
"Sure. But you got Ted Grant's fighting expertise. That's genuinely impressive." Jackson looked out the bus window at Gotham passing by. "You're becoming actually dangerous, aren't you?"
"Getting there. Slowly."
"Doesn't feel slow. Feels like you're accelerating."
Marcus didn't argue. Because Jackson was right. The strategic copying approach was working. Each high-value target added significant capability. Each week of training refined his growing skill set.
Seven weeks ago he'd been a college student with enhanced physical abilities and random copied skills.
Now he was accumulating genuine combat expertise. Medical knowledge. Tactical awareness. Strategic thinking.
One hundred twenty-two abilities and counting.
Three months until Phase 3 readiness.
And every day, Gotham's background noise of crimes and violence testing his patience.
But I'm getting closer. Actually ready instead of just enhanced.
Soon.
The bus rumbled through Gotham's streets. Marcus catalogued his new boxing expertise, felt how it integrated with his other abilities. I-Ching's martial arts. Coach Rivera's fundamentals. His enhanced physical capabilities.
He was becoming something more capable. More dangerous.
The question was whether he'd be ready before the situation that made walking away impossible finally arrived.
Three months. I can do three months.
Probably.
Marcus stared out the window at Gotham's eternal gray sky and hoped he was right.